


a sorta fairytale

by openended



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Awkward Flirting, F/F, Flirting, Fluff, Gift Giving, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6253516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openended/pseuds/openended
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started out so simply, with an impulse decision to buy flowers on a Friday evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lecriteuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/gifts).



The receptionist’s fingers are stained with ink. 

That’s the first thing Cassandra notices as she steps into the shop, small vase of I’m New To The Area And You’re Probably Not My Target Demographic But Here Are Free Flowers To Say Hi Anyway flowers in her hands.

Not the buzzing of the tattoo needles coming from the back, or the low thump of the music piped in through speakers in the ceiling, or the plastic poster of stock designs and prices hanging on the walls, not even the receptionist herself. The first thing Cassandra notices is the receptionist’s hands, and that they’re stained with ink.

It isn’t tattoo ink, as far as she can tell, but black and smudged, and absolutely everywhere. Now that Cassandra looks, the ink stains drip down the receptionist’s right hand and there’s a smudge on her forehead, right where she might have brushed her hair out of her eyes in frustration. An exploding pen, then.

The receptionist looks up from her work - trying to copy what she can from an ink-covered calendar into a blank page (a _very_ explosive pen) - and smiles. “Can I help you?”

Cassandra’s momentarily too distracted by the receptionist’s bright smile to realize that she’s expected to respond. The other woman’s left eyebrow quirks upward, just barely, but enough to snap Cassandra back to focus.

“Yes, hello. I’m Cassandra Pentaghast. I recently opened Thyme To Bloom across the street,” she gestures over her shoulder with her thumb, as if it weren’t obvious where her shop opened. “I apologize I haven’t introduced myself until now. It has been a busy opening week.” An understatement. Part of her, the part that spent a year and a half in business school, says that it’s just a new business spike, that everything will settle down and normalize in a few months and she shouldn’t get her hopes up. But the rest of her, the part that dropped out of business school to focus on flowers full-time, says otherwise.

“Here,” Cassandra says, setting the vase on the counter. Three blooms of dawn lotus surrounded by sprigs of elfroot, the bouquet isn’t anything fancy. Simple, but elegant. She hadn’t known what kind of flowers were appropriate for a tattoo parlor, so had chosen one of her basics. _Right for every occasion_ , it says in the description in her portfolio book. “These are for you. For the shop,” she adds hastily.

The smile returns, causing the woman’s eyes to crinkle and sparkle. She stands, lifting a bit on her toes to smell the flowers. “They’re beautiful, thank you.” She settles back down on her heels and extends her ink-stained hand. “I’m Josephine.”

Cassandra takes Josephine’s hand and shakes it in greeting. She hadn’t noticed the tattooed flowers curling around Josephine’s arm, black and grey with muted colors, subtle yet beautiful against Josephine’s warm bronze skin. “Felicidus aria?” She releases Josephine’s hand before the handshake lasts too long. 

Josephine nods. “Most of mine are flowers.” A smile creeps across her face again. The little bell over the door jingles and short, lithe blonde girl in yellow pants and a red tank top enters, carrying a white paper bag. “Leliana - she owns the shop - is in the back with a client right now,” Josephine says, “but I’ll tell her you stopped by.”

Cassandra nods and leaves, feeling the blonde give her an appraising stare as she passes. Before the door closes, she hears the blonde give a low, approving whistle.

“Nice, that one.”

Cassandra looks over her shoulder through the glass door. A faint blush reddens Josephine’s cheeks as she pays the other woman for lunch. Smiling to herself, Cassandra checks the street in both directions, and then crosses between two parallel parked cars. She’d nearly had Solas deliver the flowers and introduction, and taken a much-needed break for ten minutes, but something inside of her had nagged - she’s the owner, she should introduce her shop, not her assistant. Nagging rarely succeeds - even when it’s her own nagging - but she’d listened this time. And is grateful for it.

***

The second week is even busier than the first, and it’s Friday before Cassandra has a chance to think about Josephine, or the flowers tattooed on her arms. She’s in the back, trying to coax an orchid more stubborn than she is back to life when the shop bell rings and she hears voices out front.

“Cassandra?” Solas pushes through the heavy plastic curtain separating the front from the workshop. “You have a customer,” he says with a small, mysterious smile. “She asked specifically for you.”

Cassandra brushes the loose dirt off her hands. “Grow,” she instructs the orchid, and ducks through the curtain Solas holds open for her.

Josephine, in a bright yellow dress and royal blue scarf, stands waiting at the counter.

Though it’s practical for her job, and whatever’s about to transpire is clearly a business transaction, Cassandra feels underdressed and out of place in her simple dark jeans and black t-shirt. She rubs her hands on her thighs, hoping to remove the rest of the dirt. “Hello again,” she says.

“Hi,” Josephine says, turning away from inspecting a floral arrangement beside the counter. “Do you do repeating orders? Once a week, that sort of thing?”

She hadn’t thought about it, and it’s certainly not an undertaking she should make public when they’re already so busy. “Yes,” she says without any further thought. “What would you like?”

“Leliana thought flowers would brighten up the shop, make it less...tattoo parlor-y. But not too cute or pretty. Can you do something that says,” she looks down at the paper in her hands, “‘Yes this is a tattoo shop and everyone who works here has at least 15% of their body covered in ink, but we also like flowers’?” Her eyebrows scrunch together, hopeful.

Well accustomed to vaguely descriptive orders rather than specifics, Cassandra nods, already imagining what she’ll create. “Of course.” She flips to a blank page in her order book; she’ll transfer her notes into the computer’s ordering system later. Solas can type notes and orders directly into the laptop, but she needs pen and paper first. It helps with ideas. She scribbles Josephine’s request word for word, writes _black lotus!_ and _witherstalk?_ below, and then looks up. “What size, and what price range?” She points with her pen to the menu board hanging behind her from the ceiling.

“Level two on size,” Josephine picks the medium vase, “and level three on pricing,” choosing the higher end of the mid-range flowers.

Cassandra writes both choices down. “And when would you like it?”

“Monday mornings? I know that only gives you two days’ notice, and it’s a weekend…”

“I can do it,” Cassandra assures her. When Josephine opens her purse and pulls out her wallet, likely to retrieve the credit card Leliana presumably gave her for purchases like these, Cassandra shakes her head. “Payment is on delivery for smaller items like this.”

“I know,” Josephine says. “I read your website. I was hoping to buy some flowers to take home this weekend.” She blinks. “For me.”

“Oh,” Cassandra says. “Of course.” She ignores the smirk she sees Solas give her while he straightens the flower pots in the front window. “What would you like?”

“Unlike my boss, I _would_ like something cute and pretty. Level one on both size and price, though,” she says, almost apologetically.

Wheels already turning in her mind, Cassandra flips to a blank page in her order book.  “Anything specific?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Your choice.” She looks around the shop and smiles. “You seem to know what you’re doing, I trust you. I’m allergic to dragonthorn, though.”

Cassandra feels a flush rise to her cheeks at the praise from someone she’s spent all of five minutes speaking to, and furiously scribbles down Josephine’s order. She considers what she has in the back, and an idea starts to form. She looks up at the clock. “If you’d like to wait, I can have it ready in twenty minutes.”

“That’s perfect, thank you.”

She isn’t the world’s fastest typist under any circumstances, but she types even slower in front of Josephine. She doesn’t want to make any mistakes and have to hit the backspace key too many times. “What’s your last name?”

“Montilyet,” Josephine says, and then spells it for her.

“Thank you.” She clicks a few options, faster with the mouse than the keyboard, and then transfers the order to the back, where she’ll put in details as she works on it. “I’ll see you in twenty minutes.” She nods and pushes through the plastic curtain.

It’s easy work, putting together a cheery bouquet for Josephine. A few blooms of embrium, surrounded by elfroot - basic, yes, but nice filler, and not nearly as expensive as ghoul’s beard - and finishes it off with a few sprigs of solidaster. She steps back from her work table and examines the bouquet from a distance.

Solidaster is a level up, but when she removes it, the bouquet looks empty, unfinished. She puts it back and removes it three times, artistry warring with finances, before she decides to leave it in. She won’t charge Josephine extra for it; she shouldn’t be giving things away for free, not even two dollars, when the shop is still so new, but the yellow fits so well with what she’s learned of Josephine in their limited interaction. She can’t not give it to her, nor can she charge her for it. _This one time_ , she tells herself, knowing full well that she’s lying.

She takes one final look at the bouquet before deciding she’s done. Tiny pale yellow flowers, soft green leaves, and red blossoms - _yes_ , Cassandra thinks to herself. Cheery and pretty, just what Josephine asked for. She carefully wraps the bouquet in green tissue paper and carries it out to the front.

“Oh,” Josephine gasps, “that’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She hands Josephine the flowers. A few keystrokes on the computer, and it calculates the order. “$15.00, please.” She takes the offered credit card and runs it through. When the receipt prints, she gives it to Josephine to sign, along with a pen (a pen she’s fairly certain won’t explode any time soon, and especially not all over Josephine’s pretty yellow dress). “Thank you,” she says, exchanging the signed receipt for Josephine’s copy and a floral care instruction card. “Have a good weekend.”

“You too,” Josephine waves with a smile and leaves the shop, bell tinkling as the door shuts.

Solas clears his throat. “You undercharged her. That should have been seventeen.”

“And?” Cassandra raises an eyebrow. The bouquet was good without the solidaster, perfect with it, and two dollars won’t matter in the long run. And if it ever does, she can find two dollars in coins in her car.

Solas nods and drops the matter, returning to work.

It’s only when she’s closing up for the night that Cassandra realizes she never asked if the flowers for the tattoo shop were to be picked up or delivered.

***

“Hey, Ruffles.”

Josephine pauses at the front door of the bookstore. Her entrance is around the corner, through the garden. “Hi, Varric,” she greets her landlord. “Closing up early tonight?”

Varric turns the lock and stuffs his keys in his pocket. “Yep. Have a date, decided to give Cole the night off.”

“The locksmith again?” At his nod, her smile widens. “You’ll knock her socks off in that jacket.”

“Here’s hoping. Hey - nice flowers. Are those from the new shop across from you?”

She nods. “I thought they’d brighten up my apartment this weekend.” A light spring breeze flutters the hem of her skirt.

“The owner stopped by last week to introduce herself, left a stack of postcards. A little prickly for running a flower shop, isn’t she?”

“I don’t know,” Josephine says thoughtfully, squinting at him in the dying light. She adjusts her grey messenger bag over her shoulder and hooks the plastic bag containing her takeout over her arm. “Did you really expect me to work in a tattoo shop?”

“I still think you’re too sunshine-y for that place,” Varric smirks.

Josephine laughs. “Good night, Varric. Enjoy your date.”

“Have a good evening, Josephine.”

She turns down the small garden alley. Solar-powered lanterns light the stone pathway. In a few months, the garden will be overflowing with flowers, with bees and hummingbirds buzzing everywhere, and maybe even a tomato plant or two. But for now, it’s tall grasses and green shoots that haven’t bloomed yet.

Josephine turns her key in the lock, wiggles the sticking doorknob until it releases, and steps inside. There’s no noteworthy mail, but she clears out her mailbox of advertisements and political fliers - Anora Mac Tir is a shoe-in for her second term, but she’s putting forth the effort anyway - and climbs the stairs.

There are two apartments over the bookstore, she has one and an odd woman named Dagna has the other across the hall. The garden is Dagna’s handiwork, though Josephine has the apartment that overlooks it; she’s half-certain some of the plants aren’t entirely legal. Not for drugs and nothing dangerous - just plants that probably have no business being on this side of the world. But the garden keeps her in tomatoes and zucchini all summer, so she certainly isn’t going to complain. 

Once inside her apartment, Josephine locks the door behind her, kicks off her shoes into the unorganized pile of flats she’s given up trying to maintain in her closet, and hangs up her bag. “Let’s find a vase for you,” she says to the flowers, taking them and the bag of takeout Thai food into the kitchen. She turns on lamps and strings of fairy lights along her way.

She sets the flowers into a clear vase, making sure to fill it with enough water - the instruction card said the solidaster drinks a lot - and carries the vase to her dark wooden kitchen table. “Perfect,” she says with a smile.

She eats dinner while scrolling through the news on her phone. None of the headlines catch her eye, and she boxes up her leftovers and sets them in the fridge. With a sigh, she rests her hands on her hips and stares at the open sketchbook on her desk. Leliana won’t even consider her for an apprenticeship until she has the whole book filled with original designs. It’s a thin book, only twenty individual pages, but its dimensions are huge. She’s been working on it steadily for the year since Leliana gave it to her with instructions, and she’s only two thirds through it.

She cracks her neck, stretches her arms above her head, leans left, then leans right. Shifting her weight back and forth to loosen up her legs a bit, she docks her phone into her speakers and brings up her art playlist. Quiet rhythmic music flows into the apartment, and she leans across her desk to open the window. It’s a nice night, cool air and a comfortable breeze. Exhaling, she pulls her hair into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, and sits down to work.

After an hour of working on the same raven she’s been drawing feathers on for what feels like weeks, Josephine tosses her pencil aside and rolls her wrist around. Her heart’s not in it tonight. She stretches her right hand out, and swaps her design sketchbook for a smaller one, her personal art. She flips past sketches of flowers and birds and friends and strangers, and finds a blank page.

Without any plan, she picks up her pencil again and begins to draw.

A straight nose. Angular jaw. Pixie haircut - practical, but fun, if she’d let it. Scar across her right cheek. Intense eyes - Josephine spends half an hour alone on her eyes.

When she finishes, it’s nearly midnight and her hand’s starting to hurt. She leans back and looks at her drawing.

Cassandra, waist up, looking down at her order pad, pen in hand.

 _It’s nothing_ , Josephine tells herself as she gets ready for bed. An interesting art subject, who gave her a much needed break from feathers. That she hasn’t polished a non-design sketch that well in months doesn’t mean anything.

She passes the flowers while turning off lights and catches the warm, uplifting scent of the embrium.

Not a thing at all.

***

Monday morning rolls in with a thunderstorm. Cassandra’s already in her workshop when the rain begins, a torrential downpour pounding on the roof. She checks the backup generators - charged and ready, just in case - and glares at the orchid while waiting for her coffee to brew. It hasn’t died yet, but neither has it decided to live.

Thunder booms outside, and she jumps, startled. The noise echoes and rumbles for a full minute before calming. At least her car is getting clean, parked out in the tiny back parking lot that’s only big enough for three cars and a delivery truck, provided they park perfectly and the driver is very careful.

The bouquet for the tattoo shop sits on the counter, alongside other orders due today, ready for delivery. Or pickup.

She really ought to have called to check - both shops are open on Saturdays. But between a wedding and an injured fireman with a lot of fans, the weekend had been busy. It’s across the street, not a major inconvenience for either her or Leliana, though she wonders if Josephine might be the one to pick it up. At the thought of Josephine, her heart starts to speed up again, and this time it has nothing to do with thunder.

“Stop it, Cassandra,” she says to herself. “You’ve hardly met.”

That that’s barely dissuaded the characters in her favorite books from their feelings is a fact she’s trying to ignore. Those are books - and, if she’s honest with herself, terribly-written ones at that - and this is real life. There is a difference, though that doesn’t keep her from fantasizing about what she’s read.

She jumps again, too lost in thought when her coffee maker beeps that it’s ready. She fills her mug and checks the clock: 7:30. Solas will be in soon, and they’ll open at 9:00, and then she’ll have work and customers to distract her. Too much time alone this weekend with nothing but her thoughts and flowers for company, that’s all.

Lightning flashes and the rain comes down even harder, followed by a sharp crack of thunder. Doubtful they’ll get many walk-ins today, but she can hope.

Solas arrives precisely on time at 8:15, and then they unlock the door and turn on the OPEN sign at 9:00, and then wait. The rain lets up at times, allowing Cassandra to clearly see across the street for a few minutes, but then it picks up again and she has to squint through the rain-streaked glass and blurry street.

It’s during one of those breaks that she looks up across the street and through the window, and sees Josephine leaning against the counter, talking to a redheaded woman with her purple sweatshirt hood pulled up - Leliana, Cassandra surmises. Despite the dreary rain, Josephine looks cheery: navy blue dress, yellow belt, yellow scarf, and yellow shoes (Cassandra hopes there’s a pair of rainboots sitting underneath the desk, otherwise those were very impractical for today’s weather). Even from a distance and through the rain, Cassandra can see how well the dress hugs Josephine’s curves - wide hips and ample chest.

Cassandra swallows.

“Would you like me to deliver those?” Solas asks.

Startled, Cassandra drops her pen. “What?”

“The flowers,” he says with a slight smirk, and points at the bouquet she moved into the front for Rookery Ink. “I doubt the rain will let up much more than this all day.”

“No,” Cassandra says quickly. “I will go. Transfer them to a travel container.” It’s only across the street, but she doesn’t want to risk damaging the witherstalk leaves in the rain. Pale brown with purple veins, the witherstalk accents the black lotus well, but isn’t nearly as hearty as the lotus.

She zips up her black raincoat and flips up the hood; she doesn’t much care if her short hair gets wet, but the hood keeps the rain out of her eyes. After stuffing her phone into her back pocket, she takes the boxed flowers from Solas, checks the street for cars while she’s still inside and dry, and heads outside.

It may have looked like the rain had eased, but she’s nearly soaked the minute she steps out from underneath her shop’s awning. Dashing between parked cars and trying to avoid puddles, she’s certain she looks ridiculous. But she makes it in through Rookery Ink’s doors before the downpour starts again.

Both Josephine and Leliana stop talking and turn to stare at her. Cassandra pushes her hood back, and wishes she’d thought this through a bit more before running out into the rain. Solas handles most deliveries, he did even at her old shop two towns over, and unless it’s a wedding or other event that needs more than one set of hands, he usually goes alone. She decides on a smile, and sets the clear plastic box on the counter next to Josephine’s desk.

“I didn’t know if this was a delivery or pickup, but you are right across the street,” she explains. 

“Those are lovely,” the hooded redhead says, examining the bouquet. “Perfect for the parlor.”

Cassandra lets out a small breath of relief. She’d gone through three designs before settling on this one - tiny purple embrium scattered between the witherstalk leaves, with three black lotus blooms as the center. She’s been in this business for years, and only had a few unhappy customers, but she’s still nervous every time a new customer gives her an aesthetic rather than specifics.

“I’m Leliana,” the redhead says, after dispatching Josephine to find a vase. She extends her heavily-tattooed hand.

A flock of ravens flies up from Leliana’s fingers, small and simple at the start but growing larger and more detailed as they curl around her forearm. Clawed feet in flight stick out from underneath the pushed-up arm of Leliana’s sweatshirt.

“Cassandra,” she shakes the other woman’s hand.

“My apologies for the confusion,” Leliana says, stepping behind the counter. She opens the cash drawer. “It has been a chaotic morning. I would have picked these up myself, but our basement flooded with the rain, and it was a bit of an emergency to move everything.” She hands Cassandra several bills and two quarters. “That is the correct amount, yes?”

Cassandra nods and puts the money in her pocket. “Is the flooding under control?”

“Yes. Some minor damage of things we should’ve thrown out years ago. Nothing dramatic.”

Josephine returns with the flowers in a vase - the same one Cassandra brought by last week - and Leliana smiles. “These really are lovely,” Leliana says. “And you said we could do this weekly? I’ll make sure someone picks them up, next time.”

“Yes. Would you like the same thing?” She tries to focus on Leliana, and not the tiny yellow flowers on Josephine’s dress that so perfectly match her scarf and shoes, or that the felicidus aria she’d noticed on Josephine’s arm last week creeps all the way up to her shoulder, surrounded by arbor blessing and hummingbirds.

“You did such a wonderful job with these,” Leliana trails a fingertip along a black lotus petal. “I’d be happy to see this arrangement again, or anything else you choose to create. What do you think, Josie?”

Josephine nods, and tucks her dark hair behind her ear, revealing a delicate gold spiral piercing through her cartilage. Cassandra tries not to squint, but she thinks the ends of the spiral are tiny flowers.

“I don’t know who chose the black paint in here,” Josephine says with a crooked smile, “but I think flowers of any sort will brighten it up.”

Cassandra watches the two women - this is clearly a discussion they’ve had before. She’d hardly noticed the black walls on her first visit; the walls are mostly covered by photos of exquisite tattoos drawn by the artists here, or posters displaying stock designs and flat rates. “I’ll see you next week, then,” she says. With the flowers delivered and paid for, she has no reason for staying, and even though the rain’s picked up again, her small talk skills are nonexistent. 

And if she stays, she’s certain she’ll keep staring at Josephine. Sooner or later, she’s bound to be obvious about it.

“Stay dry,” Leliana smiles wryly.

Cassandra flips her hood up again, and dashes out into the rain.

***

Josephine watches Cassandra run across the street. The other woman barely makes it inside before the rain turns into a complete drenching downpour again, obscuring the flower shop from view.

“You’re staring, Josie.”

Leliana’s voice draws her back to the moment.

“I was not. I was...making sure she made it across the street safely.”

“Mmhm,” Leliana teases.

Josephine’s eyes narrow. Any other employer, and she wouldn’t dare. But she and Leliana have known each other for years, friends long before she began work as Rookery Ink’s receptionist. “Don’t you have a client?”

Leliana sighs. “Otranto’s changed his mind on the location again. Dorian’s helping him fuss. How’s your sketchbook coming along?” She nods at the large spiral bound notebook sticking out of Josephine’s bag.

“It’s progressing,” Josephine says. She’d had all intentions of finishing a few more pages this weekend, but Cassandra had captured her attention. Cassandra’s eyes, Cassandra’s profile, Cassandra’s hands. Four full pages of Cassandra. But she isn’t about to tell Leliana that. “I didn’t know they even made sketchbooks that large.”

Dorian calls from the back that they’re ready, and Leliana gives a thumbs up through the window that she’ll be right there. “Variety, Josephine.”

“I know,” she protests. “But I like flowers and birds.”

“I know,” Leliana smiles. “It can be forty pages of flowers and birds - just not forty pages of the _same_ flowers and birds. You don’t need to draw skulls and snakes. Dorian has that market well covered.” With a nod, she disappears into the back to work on her client’s arm sleeve.

Alone again, Josephine sits at her desk and lugs the sketchbook out of her bag. It’s a light day, will be even lighter because of the rain, and she put in all the inventory orders before she went home on Friday. She might as well finish the raven, or start on the band of crystal grace she’d been contemplating on the rainy drive in.

But she opens the book and her eyes land not on a blank page or the unfinished raven, but a sketch she’d started late last night inspired by the flowers she bought. Three embrium blossoms surrounded by tiny solidaster flowers, with sprigs of elfroot twined through the flowers. It’s messy and rough, but has promise. Maybe for the back of a leg, or even a chest piece if she added in more detail, like a butterfly or two.

Josephine ignores the raven for now, promising herself that she’ll finish it eventually when she isn’t quite so bored of feathers, and picks up her pencil. But before she begins to clean up the sketch’s lines, she opens up a browser and types the address of Thyme To Bloom into her computer. The flowers had looked so amazing this weekend, brightening up her kitchen as the stood out against the dark table and the light spring green walls. She can’t imagine having to see her table bare again.

And if it gives her another excuse to see Cassandra every week, well. Happy coincidence.

***

An email notification pops up in the corner of her screen. Cassandra doesn’t catch much of it before it disappears, other than that it was an online order. She finishes potting an amrita vein, one of twelve that came off their delivery truck this morning, washes her hands off in the industrial sink, and checks her email.

 **NAME:** Josephine Montilyet  
**EMAIL:** josie@rookeryink.com  
**SIZE:** Level 1  
**PRICE:** Level 1  
**INSTRUCTIONS:** I liked what you did last week - something simple, but cheery. :)  
**PICKUP:** Every Friday, 5:30pm.


	2. Chapter 2

Spring turns to summer, and Josephine’s table is adorned with flowers every week. She keeps it simple, embrium or daffodils, and Cassandra always puts together a gorgeous bouquet that brings a smile to Josephine’s face whenever she looks at it.

Josephine’s sketchbook begins to fill up even more, taking inspiration from Cassandra’s bouquets and transferring them to pencil and ink; she adds in birds and butterflies, bees and ladybugs to turn the drawings from simple sketches into something to ink. Her personal sketchbook fills up too, the more she talks with Cassandra. Their conversations on Fridays and Mondays, when she’s picking up flowers for herself or the shop, aren’t enough that she can say she really _knows_ Cassandra, but her sketches come to life the more they talk; the quirk of an eyebrow, subtle twitch of a smile, eyes glittering in pride when she presents Josephine with something new.

There’s no denying her crush now, Josephine knows; but she keeps it to herself - as much as she can when Leliana and Dorian are her coworkers - and smiles and enjoys the flowers.

***

Dorian waves at Sera, grabbing her attention, and points his finger in a circle at the near-empty drinks at their table, ordering another round. He finishes his drink and rattles the ice around in the glass with his straw. “When are you going to ask her out?”

Josephine groans and buries her face in her hands. She’d hoped his momentary distraction with their drinks was enough to keep him from returning to the topic of _needling Josie as much as possible about Cassandra_. “Dorian,” she protests. “I don’t even know if she likes me,” she says, and cringes. That sounds like the excuse of a twelve year-old.

“Ah, thank you,” he says to Sera, and takes their drinks off Sera’s tray. Korcari's busy on Thursday nights, but they tip well and so their refills are fast. He sets Josephine’s drink in front of her. “You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”

“This about the tough florist?” Sera says, leaning against their high-top table. “I’d go for that, mmm.”

“Thank you, Sera,” Josephine says dryly, her hopes for keeping her feelings to herself dashed now that Korcari's most talkative waitress knows. There are weeks that their little block of businesses feels a lot like a high school cafeteria when it comes to gossip.

“What? I’m saying - she’s hot. Bit...harsh, but if you’re into that.”

Josephine glares at the both of them, takes Leliana’s shot glass, and downs the alcohol in one gulp. Leliana’s wrapped up in a hushed conversation with Morrigan over at the bar, and probably won’t be back at their table until it’s time for her and Morrigan to disappear out the back. 

“Attagirl,” Dorian says. “Speaking of.” He tilts his head in the direction of the door.

Josephine closes her eyes, knowing exactly who just walked in, and turns around to look over her shoulder. She smiles, genuinely happy to see Cassandra, and waves when Cassandra looks her way. “If either of you arranged this,” she says through clenched teeth. She loves her friends, but they aren’t making it easy to quietly like a girl.

“I didn’t,” Dorian swears.

“Pentaghast, yeah? Think I saw a takeout order for her,” Sera says.

“Then perhaps you should get it for her,” Dorian suggests.

Josephine snorts with a mouthful of cider, though manages to swallow properly.

Sera twirls away, leaving them alone.

“If you like her, you should say something,” Dorian says, serious this time.

Josephine lifts an eyebrow. “Nice words from the man who blushes every time his favorite client comes in.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do.”

He narrows his eyes, trying to look offended. The look’s ruined by the twitch of his lip as he tries not to laugh. “I’ve never dropped my pen because someone said I looked nice today.”

Josephine raises her hands in surrender. Leliana was the only witness to it, but Josephine’s going to be living down that pen drop two weeks ago for at least a year. Seeing Cassandra waiting by the bar - her order evidently not ready yet - she takes a deep breath and waves the other woman over. No sense having her wait alone; and besides, it’d be rude not to at least say hello. 

“What’ll you have?” Sera asks, popping up beside Cassandra once she’s standing at the table.

Josephine quietly shakes her head; Sera’s appearance was far too convenient, she must’ve been waiting.

“Nothing,” Cassandra says, “I am not staying.”

“Oh come on,” Dorian says. “It’s half-price Thursday. Join us.” He gestures to the many empty glasses on their table, most of them his and Leliana’s. 

Josephine looks at her watch. It’s 9:30. “Are you just leaving work?”

Nodding, Cassandra perches on the edge of an empty chair. “We had a rare shipment come in this afternoon, it required immediate attention. I will have a water,” she tells Sera.

Sera shrugs and leaves.

“Do you,” Cassandra looks around the bar, “come here often?”

Dorian snorts, but Josephine kicks him under the table. She isn’t fast enough, and Cassandra cringes, realizing how it sounded.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean…”

Josephine smiles and waves off Cassandra’s apology. “Every other Thursday. You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like.” _That’s it, Josie. Make it casual. She doesn’t know Dorian or Leliana - or you, for that matter - but there’s safety in numbers._

“Thank you. I’m not usually one for bars.”

“The floor _is_ especially sticky here,” Dorian says. “Dorian Pavus,” he offers his hand, “you must be Cassandra, the lovely woman who keeps us in flowers.”

Cassandra takes his hand and shakes it. “I am. I’m glad you like them.” She picks up the glass of water Sera sets in front of her and takes a sip. “Is that,” she squints at Josephine’s left forearm, “is that new?” She points.

Josephine nods and lifts her arm up so Cassandra can see better. She’s starting a new sleeve on her left arm, this time with crystal grace and prophet’s laurel. “I designed it, but Leliana’s doing the actual ink.”

Cassandra reaches out with her fingertips, but doesn’t actually touch Josephine’s skin as she traces the leaves and petals. Josephine draws the edge of her lip between her teeth, certain Cassandra’s unaware of the effect she’s having this close. She takes shallow breaths, worried that if she breathes too hard, she’ll move and Cassandra will accidentally touch her - and though that’s what she wants very much at this particular moment, Cassandra would probably pull away and apologize, and the moment will be over.

“They’re very accurate,” Cassandra says, looking up. 

“Thank you,” Josephine says, concealing her disappointment at Cassandra moving a hair’s breadth away again. 

Sera brings Cassandra’s small carton of food, and their moment disappears entirely. 

“I will see you tomorrow?” Cassandra says.

Josephine so desperately wants to believe that she isn’t imagining the tiny hint of hope in Cassandra’s voice, that she hasn’t just had a few drinks in a loud bar and is hearing what she wants to hear. She smiles, and nods. “Absolutely.”

Cassandra returns the smile, just briefly, but enough to jump start Josephine’s heart. “I look forward to it,” she says, and leaves.

“Well, I feel ignored,” Dorian says, once Cassandra’s out of earshot.

Josephine crumples up her napkin and throws it at him.

***

It’s 5:46, two weeks later, before Josephine walks in the door.

Cassandra tells herself that she wasn’t paying attention, that she wasn’t worried or confused. Customers are frequently late, and she’s learned to simply assume that they will all be fifteen minutes late and allow herself to be pleasantly surprised now and then. The fact that Josephine comes in at 5:46 when she’s been coming in at 5:30 on the dot every Friday evening for two months now means nothing at all.

But Josephine, though as put-together as always in a bright blue halter dress and sandals, looks flustered. Her shoulders are tight, and it takes her until she reaches the counter to smile, instead of her usual smile the moment Cassandra sees her.

Cassandra moves this week’s bouquet - purple embrium with elfroot and two sunflowers - from the table behind the register to the counter. “Is everything alright?” It’s none of her business.

“Yes,” Josephine says quickly. “There’s,” she waves her hand through the air, “a customer of Leliana’s. He insists on flirting with me for at least ten minutes while he pays. It’s why I’m late. I’m sorry.” Her nose crinkles up when she apologizes.

“It’s no problem,” Cassandra says, because it isn’t.  But that doesn’t stop her stomach from clenching at the mention of flirting. She’s distinctly not good at reading people, perhaps she was wrong about Josephine. She rings up Josephine’s order. Fifteen dollars, as always.

Josephine hands over her credit card, and peers behind the counter. “Is that _Swords & Shields_?” she asks while Cassandra runs her card.

Cassandra immediately feels her cheeks flush. She considers denying that it’s hers, but Josephine knows that Solas is the only other employee in the store, and Josephine’s even less likely to believe that the book belongs to Solas. “Yes.” She returns Josephine’s card and receipt, and braces herself for a reaction.

“Varric Tethras is my landlord,” Josephine says, smiling, and signs the receipt. “Don’t worry,” she adds, and Cassandra realizes that she must’ve looked horrified, “I won’t tell him you’re a fan.”

“Thank you.” Cassandra remembers meeting Varric when she first opened. He seemed nice, but as far as she’s concerned, the fewer people who know she reads that kind of novel, the better. 

Josephine drops her wallet back into her purse and collects her flowers. “Have a good weekend, Cassandra.”

“You too, Josephine.”

Cassandra watches her leave, and sighs. 

“I doubt she likes this other man,” Solas says from the doorway to the workshop.

Sighing again, Cassandra brushes past him without a word. She has an orchid that needs attention.

***

Josephine quickly drops off her bag and places the flowers inside a vase, and leaves her apartment to walk back downstairs to the bookstore. Otranto’s flirting is usually innocent, but tonight it took a decidedly more _interested_ turn. Strange, how the sudden interest of another person in herself has driven her to finally find the nerve to ask out Cassandra.

She finds Varric shelving books in the back. “Do you have a moment?” She leans against one of the free-standing shelves, careful not to lean too much, lest she knock it over.

“Sure, Ruffles. What’s up? If this is about your shower, I have a guy coming on Monday to fix it.”

“Thanks,” she says, glad to know that her leaking shower will be fixed soon, “but I need your help on something else, something that doesn’t require a handyman.”

“Oh?” He stands, takes off his glasses, and lifts an eyebrow. 

Josephine takes a deep breath, and leaps. “There’s a woman I’m interested in, and would like to buy her a book. But I’m not familiar with her preferred genre.” Political thrillers are more her interest than pure romance. 

“You’ve come to the right man. What does she like?”

“Romance.”

“Ah.” He gestures for her to follow him. “Has she read - ”

“Yours? Yes. And I’m not sure a signed copy is the solution, either.”

“Alright,” he leads her to the romance section. Putting his glasses on again, Varric scans the shelves. “There’s this,” he hands her a book, “Merryweather is like me, but for the women loving women crowd.”

Josephine stares at the cover and frowns. _Masks & Masquerades_, featuring two women in ball gowns, one still wearing her ornate mask and the other holding hers by the band, stealing a kiss on an elegant stairwell. “It’s a little...tawdry,” she says. These shelves are certainly full of covers more deserving of the _bodice-ripper_ descriptor, but the cover art is still more than she feels is appropriate as a first gift for someone who might not even be interested.

“Alright,” Varric takes the book from her hands and slides it back into place. “Innocent flirting with a side of romance, then.”

“Yes,” Josephine nods. “Exactly that.”

“Miracle she made it through any of mine,” Varric mutters under his breath, and keeps looking.

***

Cassandra’s wrist-deep in potting soil, repotting the felicidus aria from its shipping container to a more permanent home, when the shop bell rings. She huffs, having hoped to get at least ten minutes to herself to work on this bouquet before the next interruption. She should know better than to try to work on anything important while Solas isn’t around. “One moment!” she calls over her shoulder, hoping the patron can hear her, and finishes with the aria. She washes her hands off, and pushes aside the plastic curtain to greet the customer.

“Can I help you?” she asks the man.

“I’d like to buy some flowers,” he says.

She gestures him over to the counter to take his order - if he’d wanted something premade, he would’ve picked it out of the refrigerators or displays already - and only then does she notice his tattoos. Most of them are healed, but some are fresh, and there’s a bandage on his arm, covering up a _very_ fresh tattoo. 

Her stomach clenches again, and drops. If she were someone who bet money on anything, she’d bet a lot of money that this is Josephine’s admirer. 

But he is a customer, and she’s not so established in town yet as to be rude to someone and get away with it, no matter how much she might like to be, and so she pulls out her order pad and pencil, ready to write. “What would you like?”

“I’m going to ask out this girl,” he says, “I’ve liked her for a while. Something nice, but simple. I like dragonthorn, with…” he trails off and looks up at the menu board and its images of some of the more popular flowers, “embrium, maybe?”

Cassandra scribbles harshly as he speaks, and her pencil tip snaps when he mentions dragonthorn. She has no intention of putting dragonthorn in anything that will be within ten feet of Josephine. “What size and price range?” She asks, while finding another pencil.

“One and one,” he says.

Inwardly, Cassandra rolls her eyes. Josephine’s worth more than that. Which is why there’s a very difficult felicidus aria in the back, when Cassandra’s only just wrestled the orchid back to life. She clenches her teeth. If Josephine says _yes_ to this man, she’ll be able to reuse the aria for someone else, she’s certain of it. It won’t go to waste, even if it won’t go to the woman who she bought it for.

“When would you like this?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

“And your name?”

“Ciel Otranto.”

She finishes writing and looks up. “I will see you tomorrow morning, Mr. Otranto.”

“Thank you,” he says and leaves the shop smiling, ecstatic about the possibility of winning himself a date tomorrow.

Cassandra clutches tightly at her pencil, wishing beyond hope that Solas hadn’t needed to leave early, and wishing even harder that she’d found her nerve a week ago. She can’t possibly see Josephine between now and tomorrow morning.

***

Josephine arrives at work on Friday wearing her favorite yellow dress, and with the book she finally chose wrapped carefully in a scarf at the bottom of her bag. _Flours & Flowers_, Varric had found it in the back an hour after closing, when they still hadn’t found something quite right; it’s far enough removed from a parallel of their lives that it’s cleverly relevant, a baker and a florist find love in a small town amidst a series of contrived occurrences, but close enough that it isn’t entirely random. 

“You’re looking happy today,” Leliana says, leaning on the counter.

“I am,” Josephine says. 

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain florist across the street, would it?” Leliana smiles.

Josephine rolls her eyes, but can’t help her own smile. “It’s impossible to keep secrets from you.”

Leliana spies her customer parking his car and stands up. “We’ve been friends for ages, Josie. You’re an open book. Otranto,” she greets the man when he enters, “ready to finish up those swords?”

“One moment, Leliana,” he says, concealing something behind his back.

She squints at him, then shrugs. “Come back when you’re ready.” She walks through the open door to the studio, leaving the two alone.

Otranto brings his hands forward, revealing the bouquet of flowers.

Josephine cringes internally. She’d been afraid of this, but hadn’t thought his flirting was serious enough yet to have to dissuade him of any interest. Evidently she was wrong. The embrium blooms he holds are lovely, but not as lovely as the woman who put them together and tied them with yellow and blue ribbon.

“Josephine,” he offers her the flowers. “I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me tonight?”

***

Cassandra spends the entire day in the workshop. She knows herself well enough that she has no business talking to customers when she’s in this mood. Solas handles the front all day, and they close for an hour at lunch.

As 5:30 grows closer, Cassandra puts the felicidus aria into a bouquet. She surrounds it with crystal grace and elfroot and a few young blooms of purple embrium. It’s far more extravagant than Josephine would ever buy for herself, Cassandra knows, but that’s the point. She ordered the felicidus aria specifically for the bouquet she’d give to Josephine when she asked her to dinner, and though she’s sure that she missed her chance, a small voice inside of her - the voice that loves _Swords & Shields_ enough to have read it four times - tells her to make it anyway. 

She has Josephine’s regular bouquet already made, embrium and elfroot and solidaster, just like the first time. A tiny voice may have told her not to give up, but a much louder voice told her not to hope too much.

“Cassandra?” Solas looks in from the front. “You have a customer.”

With a deep breath, Cassandra picks up both bouquets, and walks out to the front. 

Josephine’s waiting by the counter, in a bright yellow dress and blue scarf, holding something in her hands. She turns when Cassandra steps out, and smiles so brilliantly Cassandra nearly trips.

“Hi,” she says.

Cassandra’s vaguely aware of Solas making a quick exit for the workshop, leaving them alone. “Hello,” she says, unable to keep her voice professional, like she’d planned. Warmth sneaks in, even though she’s worried that Josephine’s leaving the shop to go to dinner with Otranto.

“I,” Josephine pauses, “I told him _no_ ,” she says. “Otranto,” she clarifies, “I assume he got the flowers from you.”

Cassandra nods, unable to speak as she feels a sudden lightness in her shoulders. _She told him no._ She sets the bouquet with embrium and elfroot down, instead holding onto the one with the felicidus aria and crystal grace. 

“I’d much rather go to dinner with you,” Josephine says. “If, of course, you’re interested.” She fidgets.

Cassandra watches Josephine’s thumb move, and she realizes that Josephine’s holding a book, and flipping her thumb against the pages. She looks up at Josephine, who’s starting to look a little worried, and smiles. “I’d very much like to go to dinner with you,” she says, and steps around the corner.

“Oh,” Josephine exhales in relief. “Good,” she whispers to herself. “This is for you,” she says a little louder, and offers Cassandra the book. 

“And these are for you,” she offers Josephine the bouquet. They exchange their gifts and Cassandra waits, holding her breath as Josephine realizes what’s in the bouquet. 

An even wider smile sets across Josephine’s face as she smells the flowers. “Felicidus aria,” she says. “It’s my favorite. Thank you.” She takes half a step closer, lifts up on her toes, and presses a soft, warm kiss to Cassandra’s cheek.

“You are welcome,” Cassandra says, heat rising to her cheeks at the touch of Josephine’s lips. Her own smile feels like it might become permanent. She looks at the book and reads the blurb on the back, excited that she has something new to read, and feeling a little warm inside that Josephine picked out something so perfect after such a brief conversation. “I look forward to reading this, thank you.”

Josephine grins, and doesn’t move away. “Let me know how it is. Do you,” she hesitates, “do you have to finish working? It’s early for dinner, I know, we could go tomorrow?”

“We can go now,” Cassandra says quickly. She’s waited this long, she could wait another day. But she doesn’t want to. “Let me tell Solas and get my things,” she gestures toward the back.

Josephine nods, and closes her eyes, smelling the flowers again.

Cassandra grabs her phone, keys, and wallet, tells Solas he’s in charge of closing up tonight, washes all the dirt off her hands, and is back at Josephine’s side in under two minutes.

“There’s a Thai place a few blocks away, if you don’t want to worry about running into anyone we know?” Josephine suggests.

Nodding, Cassandra holds the door open for Josephine and follows her out into the street.

Before they’ve reached the end of their block, their hands have found each other, holding tightly as they walk toward dinner.


End file.
